


One in the Chamber

by Agrius



Category: Gorillaz
Genre: F/M, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Generation Gap, Intimacy, Japan, Japanese Rope Bondage, Kissing, Older Man/Younger Woman, Romance, Secret Relationship, Teen Pregnancy, Underage Sex, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-16
Updated: 2018-09-15
Packaged: 2018-09-18 00:50:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 9
Words: 12,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9356267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Agrius/pseuds/Agrius
Summary: Late one night, Noodle sneaks over to 2D's room wearing... well, not much.  What follows is pretty much exactly what you'd expect.Told from 2D's perspective.  Rated 'M' for future depictions of sex between an adult (2D) and a minor (Noodle).  You've been warned.The most popular 2Nu fic on AO3 and FF.net!  Please read and review!





	1. Chapter 1

 

It was a dark and stormy night at Kong Studios.

Heavy rain pelted the roof in sheets. Fingers of lighting raced across the sky just beyond my window, accompanied seconds later by loud claps of thunder.

This particular dreary night I happened to be off my tits on wine coolers and Percocet, sprawled across my bed in the dark, strumming my guitar. Suddenly, there came a timid knock at my door.

"Jus' a minute," I fumbled my way free from the tangled sheets and laundry on my bed. The floor was a bitch on stilts to navigate with everything spinning around me. The door knocked again. "Oy! En route! Cool yer tits!"

I managed to undo all the locks, chains and bolts, twisting the knob and peering out the gap with one hollow socket. No one. Fucking ghosts. Always playing pranks, the ragamuffins.

Just as I went to shut the door, someone cleared their throat. I looked down.

" _Herro_ ," Noodle chirped.

"Oh! Uh… hey Noodz." I stared as our guitar player elbowed her way past me, into my room. Across her back was slung a heavy-looking leather satchel. She set the bag down by my TV and began unpacking its contents. Out came a tangle of cords and wires, a gaming console, and a pair of controllers.

"Um," I blinked, watching her work. _Well this is weird,_ I thought to myself. I glanced around, making sure that this was, in fact, my room. I'd been known to wander into my bandmates' rooms accidentally, on account of the brain damage 'n that. But no – this was definitely my room.

She finished setting up the console and powered it on, flopping back against the mound of wadded sheets on my bed as she booted up a game. She sat the second controller a few feet away, patting the mattress beside it.

_Oh!_ thought my horse tranquilizer-infused mind after some deliberation. _Guess she wants to play a game._ Hesitantly I picked my way over, sitting down heavily on the edge of the bed.

"Um..." I scratched the back of my neck, feeling awkward. "You, uuh… want somefin' to drink?" Impromptu or not, I didn't want to be a bad host. I'd be ill spoken of in the village.

" _Mizu, onegaishimasu_."

"'Kay, I didn't understand none of that."

She grinned beneath her shaggy purple bangs. "Water."

"Oh! Yeah, I got that."

I pinched a water bottle for her from my little Smeg. And then… random as fuck… we started playing video games. At one in the morning. With a lightning storm raging beyond my bay window, in a dirty bedroom that smelled unmentionably fowl.

It was a fighting game. One I'd never played before, on a console I didn't own. I was losing pretty bad. The painkillers probably weren't helping. Still, it was pretty fun. Noodle's mad animated when she gets going. I'd seen her and Russ gaming on the carpet in the living room, and there was always plenty of trash talking – most of it in Japanese – going around.

Whenever she'd knock my character off into the sunset, she'd thrust her skinny arms into the air, letting loose a high-pitched cheer. Woozy as I was, I soon found myself getting into it, and before long I was loosing less and less miserably with each passing round.

In hindsight, I might have known something was up.

It was late at night. She smelled nice, which nobody does naturally at one in the morning. She had on pajama bottoms and a spaghetti strap top. One strap was trailing down her arm. It caught in the dim light of the LED screen, and for some reason, I couldn't stop staring at it.

Noodz had never been in my room before, save that one unfortunate time with the honey badger, and only then just to save my life. As we played, I kept wondering what was wrong. I didn't get very far, mind, on account of all the brain damage 'n that. But I did make the effort.

After an hour or so of playing, the nightmare chasms that I use for my lookin' ports were mad tired. I set the controller down, flopping back against my bed. I pinched the space between my eyes, yawning.

"Tired," Noodle asked, pausing the game. Although it was hard to see in the dark, I thought I saw the corner of her mouth tug. Was she worried I was going to put her out?

"Y-yeah… jus' a bit. You can keep playing though."

This seemed to appease her. She exited back to the title screen, selected single player, set the difficulty at max, and launched the thing.

As I lay back watching the sharp glow of the screen, it occurred to me just how incredibly weird this was. Noodz had always been super private. Us boys weren't allowed in her tatami room under any circumstances, and she rarely ventured into our spaces. To be honest, the whole thing was a little off-putting. Did she want something?

My mind started to wander. I hadn't had a girl in my room since the last clutch of roadies had come through while we were on tour.

My tar pits widened as it dawned on me that Noodle was, in fact, a girl.

I'd never thought about it before! Noodle had always just been Noodle – our weird little Japanese guitarist that got delivered to us in a wooden crate. For years on, she'd always been one of the boys. She wore bomber hats and ponchos and did kung-fu.

Lately though, Noodle had started dressing a bit… different. Less baggy ponchos and more… um… _fitted_ garments. And while she still hides her face behind her hair, every so often you can catch a glint of phosphorous blue on her eyelids through the parts.

I noticed, suddenly, that the air in the room had changed. Not in terms of smell, mind you – it still smelled like patchouli oil, bong water and old wank – but rather in that, now, there seemed to be a tension that hadn't been there before. Noodz wasn't cheering or shit-talking like before. The only noise bouncing off the walls was the clacking of her controller keys.

I suppose it's here that our story actually starts. With me doing a stupid, stupid thing.

I noticed there was a gap in Noodle's clothing. Like, a gap between where her tank top ended and her pajamas began where a little bit of skin was showing.

I suddenly, for no accountable reason, felt the overwhelming urge to cover said patch of skin with my hand.

I didn't give it any thought; thinking, of course, being somewhat tricky business for me. On account of all the brain damage 'n that.

Without my meaning it to, my hand snaked out, pressing gently to the exposed skin on the small of her back. I was just as surprised as she was, I'm sure. I felt something warm, looked down and saw my hand resting on her. _How'd that get there,_ I wondered.

I didn't have long to ponder it, however, as unbeknownst to me, the rest of my life was in the process of changing forever.

The game paused. Noodle looked over her shoulder – the faintest glint of black peeking between jagged bangs. Her lips parted. I noticed for the first time since unboxing her that Noodle had lips. Pretty ones at that.

Goosebumps broke out over her skin right beneath my fingers. And then suddenly, she was in my lap.

It all happened so fast. One minute, we had a good three feet between us. The next, she was on top of me, straddling me, her long fingers braced against my chest.

Her eyes were little pinpricks of light peering down at me, studying me. Her chest rose and fell as if she were out of breath. She licked her lips, then growled, "Why do you always have to be so fukkin' cute?" A shiver raced through my spine.

She leaned down and kissed me. Soft at first, as if testing the waters. Then rougher. Her tongue slipped into my mouth, flicking about in the gap between my teeth. In no time I found myself kissing back. My hand was in her hair, gripping the back of her head, pulling her down against me.

Well this was a turn, wunnit?

I couldn't think. My body was on autopilot: mouth kissing, hands wandering wherever they thought they could get away with. _Jesus she's soft!_ was all I could think. Her hair. Her lips. Her skin. She smelled clean and wonderful, like she'd just stepped out of a shower. My hands were on her hips, gripping, holding her against me.

_Maybe this'll be all we do,_ the sane, rational part of my brain thought – right before Noodle broke our kiss to peel her top off. I lay there staring up in amazement as the silky pink fabric gave way to two perfect little breasts. One had a silver stud through it's areola, practically calling out my name, begging me to nibble it. Her hips ground into mine, frotting me. Jesus! Where did all this come from?!

When I couldn't stand it anymore, I sat up, cradling her in my lap as my lips found the hard edge of her pierced nibble, suckling it greedily. Noodle sighed, her arms banding around my neck as I teased the stud with my tongue. She gripped my hair, pulling me off. I whimpered in protest. She dove on my mouth, silencing me.

Now, I'm going to skip a bit ahead. Why? Because describing my sex life to a complete stranger ain't gentlemanly. 'Least not right off. (There'll be sex described later on – pinkie swear. Stay tuned!)

Anyways, needless to say, we had sex. And it was… fuckin' _amazing!_ I mean, god DAMN! Who knew a girl that small could put me through the hoops like that! I came buckets!

I know she got there too. I know she did. I _felt_ it. Her legs locked around me, she let loose a thick moan right against my- but there I go describing the sex again. Movin' on!

So anyways, we were lying there afterwards, all tangled up in eachother, passing a blunt back and forth when something started niggling at me. I couldn't quite put my finger on it. We watched TV, giggled, kissed, and the whole time this indistinct thought was worming through my head, trying to reach daylight.

As a gray ribbon of light scrawled its way across the horizon, it finally occurred to me.

I'm 24.

Noodle joined our band four years ago. The shipping invoice that came with the crate said she was 10 at the time.

Ten… plus four…

_PROCESSING… SPINNING WHEEL ICON… LOADING BAR… CRASH… REBOOT… SAFETY MODE… PROCESSING…_

"Noodz," I croaked, my waterlogged graves opening wide.

"Mm-hm?" Noodle yawned, her head resting on my chest.

"How… um… how old are you?"

"Fo'teen!" she said cheerfully.

"'Kay. S'wut I thought. Night."

"Night!"

Noodle drifted off to sleep within minutes. Lucky her. I, on the other hand, spent the next four hours until breakfast having one of the worst panic attacks of my life.


	2. Chapter 2

 

I must have dozed off. When I came to, there was light in the room and she was gone.

 

Despite myself I felt a little disappointed. I mean, yeah, it’s probably a good thing when the underage girl you technically just assaulted ain’t still around when you wake up. On the other hand, it was kind of nice laying in bed with somebody for a change. Roadies don’t like to cuddle, after all.

 

Looking over, I saw there was an indent in my body pillow where her head had been. I rolled over, burying my face in the crater. It smelled like her shampoo – clean and minty.

 

“Ugh.” I palmed my face, groaning. What the hell was wrong with me? It felt every bit like I’d just fucked my little sister. Several times. In multiple positions.

 

Thinking that breakfast might clear the cobwebs from my mind, I got up, got dressed, and made my way down the stairs towards the kitchen. As I rounded the stairs, I could smell bacon being cooked, toast being burnt. It was Russel’s turn to drum up breakfast, and I could have really used one of his omelets right then.

 

Last bit of stairs, minding the bum third step, I turned the corner, and ---

 

“ _Oh_ _a_ _yo, Toochi-kun!”_

 

Bugger me.

 

Russ and Murdoc were seated around the kitchenette, which was lavishly set.

 

Noodle was working the stove.

 

“Mate, you gonna sit?” Murdoc growled when I continued to stare in gormlessly. Hesitantly I padded over and pulled up a chair.

 

Murdoc and Russ were bickering about some new album that’d been released. Across the way, Noodz had all four burners going, cooking up a storm. I watched her back as she swayed to the throbbing beat coming from her oversized headphones. She looked happy.

 

“What the bloody hell happened to you?” I perked up. Murdoc was studying me, his good eye narrowing inquisitively.

 

“Wut?”

 

“You look like you got run over by a train.”

 

“Long night?” Russ chimed in.

 

“Y-yeah… guess you could say that.” I thought I caught a playful glint in Noodle’s eye through her bangs as she pushed the eggs around with a silicone paddle.

 

“I mean it mate… you look like you spent the night in prison getting bummed by a walrus.”

 

“Why would a walrus be in prison?” Russ inquired around a mouthful of toast.

 

“Crimes against fish,” Murdoc stated matter-of-factly. And then, for my benefit, he leaned in to loudly whisper: “Of the lewd and lascivious variety, o’course.”

 

I rolled my murky peepers at him. Noodle brought over the last sizzling pan of food and paddled it onto the common plate at the center of the table. It was quite a spread, which I was thankful for. I’d burned a lot of calories recently and needed to stock up.

 

After turning off all the eyes on the stove, Noodle pulled up her usual chair across from me and dug in. This particular morning she had on striped drainpipes, a stretched-out raglan sleeve sweater in an apocalyptic Barbie hatefuck pink, and her leather kepi.

 

We had one real exchange over the entire meal. I’d looked up to grab another wedge of toast and caught her eye. She smiled at me, but I couldn’t smile back. I just… stared. After a while her smile faded to nothing, her eyes disappearing behind her bangs.

 

I tried not to look her way again. I really did. But every so often I’d go to glance up, and my eyes would immediately go to her chest.

 

_I kind of want to see her nips again._ The thought bloomed into being like a corpse flower, emphatically shitting  all over my day. Oh my god… what was wrong with me?!

 

With breakfast done, I quickly cleared my space and dipped out, careful to avoid Noodle’s gaze as I rounded the elbow, taking the stairs two at a time. I closed the door to my room and threw the heaviest bolt, resting my back against the solid wood frame.

 

This was all too much. I popped a Dilaudid and fished out a baggie from my old cigar box, loading up a bowl. I didn’t usually wake ‘n bake like this, but the Gorillaz were on a tour break, and it was still gray and rainy outside. So I figured, sod it. Let’s make a day of it.

 

* * *

 

I’d smoked about half the bowl when, once again, there came a timid knock at my door.

 

I knew who it was. I pretended to be dead.

 

“Toochi?” The knocking got louder, more insistent.

 

Sighing, I set my glass bong down on the end table, pushing off from the bed. I undid the top bolt, resting my forehead on the door’s cool surface for a bit, collecting myself before opening it.

 

“Can we talk?”

 

I nodded, gesturing her in. She slipped past me, taking a seat at my desk this time. I closed the door and sat on the bed across from her.

 

She was wearing the same outfit as before, minus the kepi. With her facing me, unobstructed by a table, I realized that her angry pink sweater had ‘MONGOLOID PORN INFERNO’ scrawled across the front in heavy letters. Nice. I made a note to borrow it sometime.

 

The corner of her lip was bruised from where she’d been chewing it. Her eyes were hidden, but I could see worry creasing the corners of her mouth.

 

“I am… sorry,” she began after a time. “I was lonely. But it was… dishonorable of me… to do what I did.”

 

I blinked. _She_ was apologizing to _me?_ How bizarre!

 

“N-no, Noodz...” I stammered. “S’my fault. I, err… I mean… I guess I kind of forgot that you were, um…,” I swallowed audibly. “Y’know… fourteen. N’that.”

 

Her hands were knitted together in her lap, her gaze fixed on my carpet. She nodded, and a deadly silence settled between us.

 

I scratched the back of my neck, the inside of my mouth feeling simultaneously numb and scratched raw. Circuits flipped on and off in my mind. What now?

 

A horrifying thought occurred to me. What if I’d been her first?

 

Oh god. Oh god, oh god, _ohgodohgodohgod_. But no – there was no way. No way on earth. Noodle banged like a loaded freight train running an hour late for the station. Which meant there was some other lucky sod out there walking around with Noodle’s virginity in his back pocket. Good on him.

 

Noodle’s face bunched up. Leveraging her hands against her knees, she slowly climbed to her feet. “I’ll… leave. I just wanted to say that. And… please… if we could continue to work together… and live as friends… I am sure we can put this behind us.”

 

My nightmare caverns opened wide. _She’s going to cry!_

 

“N-Noodz!” But it was too late. The first tear was already leaving a snail trail down her cheek. It was like watching a dam break open. She stood there, in my room, crying into her hands, her bright yellow nail polish catching in the window’s dim light like little oblong suns.

 

I didn’t last five seconds. My body flooding with big brother adrenaline, I was out of my seat like a shot, gathering her up in my arms. She flailed against me at first. But then her calloused hands banded around my neck and she was sobbing openly into my chest, soaking my shirt collar through as we held eachother there in the middle of my bedroom. I kissed the top of her head, smelling the same tea tree oil fragrance I’d found on my pillow mere hours earlier.

 

It took a solid five minutes of me holding her, rocking her, kissing her and whispering her name before her watery gulps gave way to heavy breathing. And even then, I couldn’t bring myself to let go, so scared I was that she’d start crying again. Noodle crying is one of the gut-wrenching sounds ever devised for the human ear, come to find out.

 

“Noodz,” I soothed against her ear. “I am so, SO sorry. You ain’t done no’fing wrong. S’my fault, I swear.”

 

Noodle shook her head, her face buried in the crux of my neck. “No, Toochi. _Daijoubu._ It’s my fault. I should have let you know a long time ago.”

 

A vacuum tube popped in my brain. “Let me know wut?”

 

She pulled off, slipping fingers beneath her bangs to brush under her eyes. Her face was red. She looked tired and sad. As her gaze met mine, I suddenly knew what she was going to say, mere seconds before she was set to say it.

 

“That I’ve… had a crush on you.”

 

I blinked. A couple more vacuum tubes popped off in a spray of sparks as my brain tried to process her heavily accented words. “You… have a crush… on me?” Good job, Stu’s brain. You repeated the last thing someone said to you. Way to contribute.

 

Hesitantly, Noodle nodded. “ _Hai._ A bad one. For years.”

 

I blinked my haunted wells, staring down at her, taken aback. I can’t stress enough how, just _fourteen hours ago_ , Noodle had been my quirky bandmate and quasi-baby sister who liked old kung fu movies and braiding my hair. And now… _this!_ It felt like a tornado had touched down in the town square of my life.

 

I plopped back down on the edge of my bed, bracing my forehead in my palm.

 

“Noodle,” I began after much deliberation. “I’m… y’know… flattered n’that. But I’m, like… _way_ older than you. By a lot. And…”

 

Noodle fidgeted in place, a long streak of red spanning the distance between either cheek. “I won’t tell.”

 

My tarantula pits shot open as wide as they could get. “That’s not what I meant!”

 

But I could see it in her eyes now; a freshly turned-over ember of determination growing steadily hotter.

 

She took a delicate step towards me. Slowly, carefully, she reached out a shaking hand. The callouses on her fingers slid along my cheek. I could smell the laundry detergent on her clothes.

 

“I want you,” Noodle growled, her gaze firm, resolute. “I have wanted you for years. Every time you take some stupid groupie into your bedroom, I go in mine and scream into my pillow. Everything you do… everything _about_ you… makes me crazy. Yo’ creepy eyes. Yo’ smell. I think of you in the shower. You touch me in my dreams.”

 

And as she slid into my lap, it finally occurred to me.

 

This wasn’t a one-and-off deal. Things weren’t going to go back to normal for us.

 

_T_ _his_ was the new normal.


	3. Chapter 3

I don’t know how to start this chapter.

 

Well, um… okay. Noodz and I were… _together_. All intimate-like. N’that.

 

Let’s see. She was on top of me. Straddling me. _Riding_ me. And as I laid there, staring up at her two little heaving breasts, all I could think about was how different she was. From the usual roadies that got let up to my room by security. From any girl I’d ever dated. Any girl I’d ever met.

 

Noodle wasn’t my type, _per se_. I usually took ‘em curvy and stacked, bronze-skinned and gloriously stupid. Noodle was none of those things. And yet… I don’t think I had ever been as painfully hard as I was right then. Her fingers pressing against my chest made my skin break out in goosebumps. When she leaned in to bite my neck, I thought lightning had gone up me.

 

When we kissed, it was… Jesus, I don’t even know how to describe it! I had never kissed anyone like that. So rough and, like… _needy_. It was as if she were trying to suffocate me with her mouth. I loved it.

 

Finally, I couldn’t take anymore. I lifted her up, pinning her down roughly against the bed, hard enough to make the springs squeak in protest. Her bright yellow nails pitted my back as I thrust into her. I wanted to hear her moan. I wanted to make her scream my name.

 

Honestly, I think I could have died right then and been totally fine with it. Is that a weird thing to say? I mean… what more could a guy ask for out of life? Front man for an awesome alt-band. Enough drugs swimming through my veins to stock a pharmacy. Cute, albeit illegal girl in my bed. If Neil deGrasse Tyson were to walk though my bedroom door and blow out the back of my head with a rhinestone-encrusted derringer, I don’t think I would have protested much.

 

Not sure why he would do that though. Neil deGrasse Tyson seems like a pretty nice guy. Wouldn’t go around just offing guys left ‘n right like that. And I’m sure he’s busy giving speeches and what-not. Probably couldn’t find the time in his hectic schedule for a random assassination. Where would he even get a rhinestone-encrusted derringer anyway? Well, I suppose he could put the rhinestones on himself with a hot glue gun. But then that just circles back to the hectic schedule thing…

 

“Toochi,” came Noodle’s fiery breath against my ear, bringing me back down to earth. “Please… please don’t stop.”

 

Then she reached down and grabbed my ass. Which, if she hadn’t wanted me to stop, was probably a terrible idea. Because now she had a minute tops before I ejaculated my entire central nervous system into her.

 

“Toochi…,” she whimpered. “I… I’m…”

 

Oh thank god.

 

Her nails scratched my back as I bit down on her shoulder. And I kid you not… it was a photo finish.

 

Explosions. Just… fukkin’… _explosions_. Explosions everywhere! Explosions for days!

 

For a good ten seconds I honestly thought I'd ejaculated so hard that I’d severed my own optic nerves, because all I could see in that interval were scattering flecks of light. I am embarrassed – _to this very da_ _y –_ for the noise that I made. Like a mix between an ostrich getting its prostate checked and a blender snagging on a spoon. Just the most god-awful moan you’ve ever heard.

 

Noodle didn’t seem to mind though. Her skinny arms banded around my midsection, holding me tight. She reached up a hand to gently comb through my sweaty hair, her little chest heaving against mine. “Toochi,” she kept whispering against my ear. “Toochi.” Over and over and over.

 

Worrying that I might’ve been suffocating her, I pulled my face out of the pillow. Beneath me, Noodle’s face was flushed red. Her purple hair lay matted to her forehead. Her lips were swollen, her eye shadow badly smeared.

 

I kissed her. I’m not sure why. Up until that point, I’d never kissed that many girls after sex. During, sure. But rarely after. Then again, this wasn’t the rough, angry kissing you get during sex either. It was soft and weirdly affectionate, to the point where I actually kind of surprised myself.

 

Noodle’s fingers slid over my cheek, my arms wrapped around her back and we just… sort of stayed there. Kissing. Holding each other. And kissing. It was possibly the most fukkin’ surreal moment of my life. Naked in a room, making out with a girl that I genuinely cared for. How bizarre, right?

 

Anyways, at some point much later, we were laying there together in bed. I kept doing this weird thing where I’d tuck strands of her hair behind her ear, even after all the strands were already tucked. Noodle only looked up at me with her freshly exposed eyes, studying me, her long fingers gently tracing along the bumps in my spine.

 

In that moment, I realized that I didn’t want Noodle to go back to her own bedroom. I wanted her to just stay there, naked, with me. I was beset with the sudden anxiety of having to sleep alone again.

 

As if reading my mind, Noodz glanced over at the Mickey Mouse alarm clock on my bedside table.

 

“It’s late,” she whispered, as if she thought someone were eavesdropping.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“I should go.”

 

“…yeah.”

 

After a moments hesitation, Noodle slowly went to disentangle herself from me. And… I didn’t let her. I just sort of held on. Which sounds a lot more rapey than it actually was, I assure you. All it really amounted to was a gentle tug.

 

She looked up at me. I looked at her. The corner of Noodle’s mouth turned up ever so slightly as she laid her head back down against my chest. I used my freakishly long arms to tug the bedsheet over the two of us. Then I clapped my hands twice and the lights went out.

 

So I guess the moral of this chapter is: Yes, they DO still make Clapper light switches. They are convenient and awesome, and I highly encourage each and every one of you to have one installed in a room of your choice. And at just under 35 dollars a pop on Amazon, can you really afford _not_ to buy one? Food for thought.

 

Anyways, thanks for the read n’that. ‘Til next time!


	4. Chapter 4

 

“Alright Russ. I’m level. You ready?”

 

“Hit it baby.”

 

I started the alpha and rested back in my chair, hands poised above the mixing board. On the other side of the glass, Russ worked his magic with the skins, tapping away like a filthy genius.

 

We were back downstairs in the studio trying to sort some things out for a demo CD the studio wanted. Nothing too mind-blowing. Just some B-sides and vanity projects. Stuff to get the hipster girls wet. And some of the hipster boys as well.

 

The whole crew was there. Really only Russ and me were needed, but as it was yet another rainy day in London (shocker!) and nobody had anything better to do, everyone was in attendance. Murdoc had his chair pushed up against the back wall and was tapping his foot in time to the beat.

 

Noodle was over in a corner, tuning her oversized double-V guitar. She was wearing tapered white chinos and a Pucci print top the color of fish nightmares. It was an outfit I would have loved to see wadded up on my floor at four in the morning.

 

Speaking of which.

 

Things had slowed down a bit over the past few days. Well, not slowed down. Stopped. We’d been going at it for two weeks straight with no breaks. And then, out of the blue, Noodle had stopped sneaking over to my room at night.

 

At first I thought that maybe she was tired and wanted to rest. Then two more nights passed.

 

I was starting to get worried. On one occasion, I tried asking her if everything was OK.

 

It went a little something like this:

 

 

**SCENE**

 

FADE IN:

 

INT. LAUNDRY ROOM, KONG STUDIOS - NIGHT

 

Mountains of clothes pile high like festering corpses on a tiled floor. A lone industrial washing machine rattles violently, filling the room with the sound of sloshing water. NOODLE, wearing a baggy t-shirt and cutoff jeans, hums a jaunty K-Pop tune as she folds her unmentionables at a nearby card table.

 

STUART “2D” POT enters stage left, his gangly arms burdened by a hamper full of laundry.

 

**2D**

 

(spotting Noodle) Oh… um… hey Noodz. Doin’ ya some laundry, yeah?

 

**NOODLE**

 

(Eyes 2D like a feral animal, ready to pounce.)

 

**2D**

 

(blinking his barren cisterns) Um… is… is everything alright? I mean… you ain’t said much these past few days. An’ we ain’t… um… _hung out_ … lately. I just wanted to make sure everything was…

 

**NOODLE**

 

(Silently gathers up her folded laundry in one hand, then pads over to where 2D is standing. NOODLE grabs a handful of the startled boy’s shirt, yanking him down into a rough, prison rape-esque kiss. She then pushes him off, growls at him, and EXITS the room.)

 

**2D**

 

(collapses onto his knees, mouth agape, a shameful erection vulgarly tenting the front of his shorts)

 

FADE TO BLACK

 

 

So… yeah. No sex for us these past few nights.

 

It wouldn’t be so bad if she would just _tell me what the hell I did._ Because, literally, all we’d done prior to that was smoke a bunch of weed and watch old monster films. And we cuddled the whole time! _How_ _would I have_ _fucked that up?!_

 

Sorry. I’m sorry. It’s just… truth be told, I’m a little pent-up. Sexually. It’s hard going from two weeks of the most explosive sex ever to a dead halt. My balls were about the size of kiwis.

 

After day two, I began to wonder if I’d imagined the whole thing. Noodle coming over to my room. Us sharing two uninterrupted weeks of the most vulgar, profane, animalistic sex known to man. The laundry room incident. Had it all been an elaborate hallucination brought on by me crushing up Ambien tablets and mixing them into my wine coolers?

 

I glanced over at her. She was busy tightening a string and didn’t seem to notice me. I sighed, turning back to my mixing board.

 

“Alright Russ, that sounded pretty nice. Wanna come have a listen?”

 

Russ nodded, scooting back on his stool. I pulled off my bulky headphones and slouched down, rubbing my temples.

 

“I’m gonna grab a soda,” I said suddenly, pushing out of my chair. As I wandered down the hall towards the break room, I heard the alpha start up behind me.

 

The lights in the break room were off. I flipped them on, padded over to the fridge, fished out a diet Fresca like the elderly white woman that I am, popped the tap, took a long swig, then rested the can’s dewy surface against my forehead, eyes closed.

 

What was this feeling? This pitiful sense of absence? I mean, sure I missed the sex. Who wouldn’t? Snails I suppose. They reproduce asexually. My point is, there was more to it than a simple case of blueballs. I wanted…

 

My eyes opened suddenly, staring into the blurry distance beyond the silver edges of the can.

 

_What did I want?_

 

I groaned. This stuff always confused me, even before Murdoc ran me over with his car and gave me brain damage. Twice.

 

Just as I was about to push off from the fridge and rejoin the group, the overhead lights went off.

 

“What the--”

 

I squinted in the dark, padding over to the light switch. I flicked them on, and there was Noodle.

 

“GAAAAH!!”

 

She was wedged in the top of the doorframe, limbs splayed out, like some sort of nightmarish spider monkey. From this angle, she was actually about a foot taller than me and stared down into my moon craters with narrow, startling eyes. I think I pee’d myself a little.

 

“I wanted to see,” she began, after my heart started back up. “How long I could go. Without seeing you.”

 

I swallowed audibly, my mouth dry and remarkably free of that pleasant Fresca aftertaste. “O-oh?”

 

Noodle nodded solemnly. “Three days.”

 

“Three days,” I repeated stupidly.

 

“Uh-huh.” Noodle leaned in until the tip of her button nose brushed against mine. “Want to know a secret?”

 

I think I gurgled or something.

 

She leaned in further, now hanging off the wall with what appeared to be superhuman strength. Brushing her lips against the cone of my ear, she whispered: “Tonight… I am going to fuck you so hard… and for so long… that you may die from dehydration.”

 

And, boner.

 

I could smell her perfume. I could practically taste the warmth of her skin.

 

Noodle leaped from the doorframe, her arms and legs coiling around me. Our lips met. My brain screamed. I slammed her back against the door a bit louder than was probably wise. She gripped the back of my head. My hands wandered beneath her top.

 

At no point did I even vaguely consider that our other bandmates were right down the hall. Didn’t even cross my mind. I just _really_ needed to be inside her all of a sudden.

 

Before things could get really good however, Noodle broke our kiss, resting her forehead against mine, panting. “N-not here. Tonight. Come to my room at midnight.”

 

She untangled herself from me, which I probably made incredibly difficult, and straightened her outfit.

 

“Finish yo’ drink. Wait five minutes for yo’ balloon to deflate. Then come out.”

 

Noodle opened the door, checked to make sure the coast was clear, then slipped part of the way out.

 

She hesitated, looking back at me.

 

“Bring a belt.” Then she left, closing the door behind her.


	5. Chapter 5

 

I managed to contain myself until 11:59:59.  

 

My knuckles hovered above Noodle’s door, vibrating from a potent mix of Tramadol, beta blockers, Monster energy drinks and ravenous sexual desire.  At last I could stand it no longer, knocking fast and quiet as a hummingbird’s heartbeat. 

 

I watched the knob turn slowly, the door yawning open on greased hinges.  Suddenly engulfed in cool bedroom air, my sinuses flooded with the mingled scents of hibiscus flowers, leather, melon bread, burnt matches, Royal Milk Tea and all things fuzzy and cute.  

 

Right away I knew that something was very, very wrong.

 

Noodle sat down on the edge of her futon.  Her eyes were red and raw.  Her cheeks looked like they had been scrubbed.  She’d been crying recently.

 

“Sit down,” she said finally in monotone.  

 

After a moment’s hesitation I wordlessly shuffled over, taking a long fall down onto the futon next to her.  “Noodz?”

 

Rustling around in her pocket, Noodle produced a crumpled pack of Djarum Blacks.  She fished out a single black cylinder with her teeth, staring dully at the tip as she lit it with a Hello Kitty lighter.  The scent of burning cloves was soon added to the collective perfume of the room.

 

I watched all of this in amazement.  Noodle almost never smoked.  Maybe she’d off one or two a year at the end of a long stretch of touring.  But I’d never seen her blaze one up at Kong.  Not in all the years we’d lived there.

 

“Noodle,” I began again when it seemed she hadn’t heard me.  “If somefing’s wrong, you can tell me.”

 

She continued to stare at the smoldering end of her cigarette.  Wisps of scented smoke spilled from the corners of her lips.  She retrieved the thing with two fingers, holding it aloft, flicking the filter, sending white-gray ash falling down onto the tatami mat beneath her feet.

 

“Noodz?”

 

Her gaze rose to mine and a rock dropped into my stomach.  In her eyes, a cascade of emotions.  Sadness.  Anger.  Fear.  When next she spoke, it was in a voice so cracked, so hoarse that it barely registered over the hum of the air conditioning.  

 

“I don’t want anything from you,” she said.  “I don’t need you to do anything.  It’s my fault, not yours.  And I will take care of it.”

 

“Noodz, what are you…” 

 

And then it hit me.  

 

_ Oh god. _

 

My shorted power outlets formed two shocked ‘0’s, dilating as far as they could go.  “Are... are you sure?”

 

She nodded solemnly.  “I took the test an hour ago.  It’s in the bathroom if you want to see.”

 

Every muscle in my body tensed up.  I covered my mouth with my hands as Noodle shook her head.  “I don’t need you to do anything,” she reiterated.  “Nothing at all.  No one will know.”

 

It was as though the magnitude of everything we’d done - the weight of it all - had come crashing through the ceiling like a Boeing 747.  My world over the past three weeks had taken on a nightmarish new context.  The beautiful thing Noodle and I had shared was suddenly this horrific abomination - an unforgivable transgression I’d perpetrated against her, for which she’d now be expected to bear the consequences.

 

I don’t have the words to express just how disgusting I felt right then.

 

“What are you gonna do?” came my voice over a great distance.

 

Noodle took a long drag off her cigarette.  She didn’t look at me.  Who could blame her?

 

“I texted Charles,” she said, referring to our label manager.  “I’ll talk to him tomorrow.  He’ll set everything up.”

 

Chin tucked into my chest, fingers milling together between my thighs, I nodded.  Charles was a world-class fixer.  The man had gotten us out of who knows how many jams.  Hearing his name, I immediately knew that our troubles would soon be over.  I hated myself for feeling so instantly relieved.

 

“D-do you want me to come wif you?”  My voice broke as I said it.  

 

Noodle studied the curling ash at the tip of her cigarette, seemingly lost in her own world.  “If you want.”

 

Dear god… everything was in ruins!  Our friendship.  Our band.  All of it.  Just boiled glass and charred landscape as far as the eye could see.

My body reacted before my brain could stop it, just as it had three weeks prior when I’d unconsciously touched the small of Noodle’s back.  My arms snaked up, coiling around Noodle’s weightless frame, hugging her.

 

I expected her to react violently, to recoil in horror, to shove me off.  One calloused hand rose to grip my wrist as though she were readying to judo fling me through the bedroom door.  But she just held onto me, slouching against me like a flower wilting in the noonday sun, resting her head on my shoulder.

 

“Noodz… I am so… SO sorry.”

 

But she only shook her head, her cigarette still perched between her chapped lips.  “Don’t be.”

 

“I’m such an idiot,” I hissed through clenched teeth, clamping down on the tears that threatened to spill.  “Dammit!”

 

She didn’t say anything for a while.  Then, in a voice without even a trace of malace, whispered:

 

_ “Bakayarou.” _

 

My arms tightened around her, on the verge of crushing her ribs.  Despite everything, I kissed the top of her head.  

 

“We’ll figure this out,” I offered weakly.  “Together.  I promise.”

 

We sat there for what felt like forever.  Her head grew heavy against my chest as my arms went numb around her.  

 

“Should I leave?”

 

She sighed, shaking her head.  “Stay with me.”

 

And you know what?  I did.  Like the massive fucking idiot that I am, I stayed.  

 

Gathering her up in my arms with a preternatural strength that surprised me, I effortlessly moved us up the bed and underneath the covers.  We coiled around eachother - not in sex for once, but in a wounded embrace that at once felt magnanimous and eternal.  I closed my eyes and listened to her breathing, wishing that time would just stop right there.  I feared the encroaching day and all the horrors it promised to bring. 


	6. Chapter 6

 

In my dream that night, I was back at my old work in Uncle Norm's Organ Emporium, way out in Crawley. It was 1992.

 

Catching sight of myself in one of the many mirrored pillars stationed throughout the store, I saw that I was a lad of maybe fourteen. While my hair had already turned blue from the fall, my eyes were still present and in no way hanging out near the back of my head. I was wearing a starched white collar, itchy polyester slacks, a day laborer’s apron and a smattering of juvenile acne across my cheeks.

 

At the time I was busy vacuuming between the pianos. I made a little dance of pushing the clumsy old Kirby over the nubby industrial carpet, shaking my bony butt to an Augustus Pablo rag I’d set on the record player. The open bay showroom smelled strongly of dust, lemon-scented furniture spray and mounting economic desperation. Had Murdoc not crashed his car through the wall, knocking me daft and prompting a big insurance cash-out, the store might’ve only had another year or two before it went under on its own. So it was fortuitous in a way.

 

I stopped just long enough to pet the store cat, an elderly shepherd’s pie-colored mutt answering to Little Shit who lolled across one of the Steinways, looking for all the world like a beached elephant seal sunning itself on a rock. Suddenly there came the obnoxious chime of the front door.

 

Looking up over a sea of lacquered piano tops, I saw that it was a girl. And not just any girl either. An _Asian_ girl. Raven hair, slanted eyes, frumpy tweed school uniform, that whole bit. She was lanky as can be, her knee-socked legs emerging out from her pleated skirt like two slender chopsticks. Is that racist? That’s probably racist.

 

I remember thinking, _gor_ , she’s a bit of a looker ain’t she? Cute. Not voluptuous and anal bleached like the girls in the magazines I kept under my mattress, granted. But cute as all get-out.

 

She bypassed the flats and the uprights, paying me no mind as she weaved through our maze of pianos, making a beeline for the center of the store where the electronic keyboards were kept. I killed the vacuum and just sort of gawked at her from across the room. Where had she come from, I wondered. She was wearing a Japanese schoolgirl uniform, which was odd for this area. Was she an exchange student? A tourist?

 

She clicked the power button on a Casio, fiddling with the levels for a bit before starting to play. I watched in awe as the girl’s blackened fingernails pondered over the keys. Out came this low, almost imperceptible melody. I had to strain to hear it.

 

With sudden horror, I realized that Augustus Pablo was still circling the spinner. I scurried over to the laminated counter, swatting the record player’s arm away, not caring if I scratched one of my favorite vinyls. The upbeat melody gave with a ghastly creak. Visibly startled, the girl looked up from her keyboard, searching around for the source of the noise. When her gaze finally fell on me, my heart skipped a beat. I watched, slack-jawed, as her eyes wandered from my face, up to my hair and back down again. The corner of her mouth turned up in a charming grin.

 

_If she speaks a lick of the Queen’s tongue, I’ll have her married before this shift lets out._

 

The girl bowed deeply towards me, her tiny doll hands folded neatly in her lap, then returned to the keyboard. The song started back up – this listing, sluggish tune that seemed confused and disjointed at first, but which eventually swelled to heights of frightening magnificence.

 

_Le Mal du Pays_. S’wut it was called. Don’t ask me how I knew that. I ain’t so sure myself.

 

A trickle of sweat wormed its way down my spine as she played. God… it was _haunting_. Like sharing a post-sex cigarette with a spouse you’re planning to divorce. Or finding a homeless person sleeping in the ruins of your favorite outdoor cafe after it burned down. _Fuck!_ I needed all of her digits, plus some extra digits thrown in for good measure.

 

Too soon, the song waned and died like a candle flame drowning in wax. The girl looked up at me, wordlessly requesting an appraisal.

 

“That wuz…” I gulped, “…beautiful.”

 

The girl nodded, mumbled something appreciative-sounding, then slinked softly away towards the back of the store, my eyes following every step she took. Right before she disappeared from my scope, she paused with her hand on the railing at the two carpeted steps leading up to our pipe organs. Turning over her shoulder to look at me, she tilted her head in the direction she was heading. _Follow me._

 

Oh fuck. _Oh fuck!_ What do I do?!

 

I glanced around. It was lunchtime on a Tuesday. The store was a ghost town. I hopped the counter, slipping off my useless worker’s apron as I padded after her.

 

She was out of sight when I took both stairs in one leggy bound. I could still hear her Mary Jane’s clicking around somewhere among all the towering silver pipes. I stuck my head down each aisle in turn, trying to find her. She was hiding from me. A few times, I could just make out stifled giggling.

 

I stepped quietly between two rows of high-end units, hoping to catch her at an intersection. But when I rounded the corner, there she was. She had one foot up and resting on the back of a Rodgers electric model. Her arms were crossed as if I’d kept her waiting. A fey smirk spread slowly across her glossy lips.

 

At a loss, I fumbled for something to say.

 

“D-do you… speak English?” was all that came out.

 

Studying my mouth as I spoke, the girl shook her head. “I no speak Engrish. _Gomen_.”

 

I nodded, bringing a hand up to rub the back of my neck, not knowing how to proceed with my wooing.

 

Studying my anxious face, the girl pushed off the organ’s faux-wood surface, taking a step towards me. I watched in wide-eyed amazement as her hand reached out, gathering up the fabric between the top two buttons on my shirt.

 

She pulled me down.

 

She kissed me.

 

Not knowing what to do, my hands instinctively slid along her waist, holding her tight against my gangly adolescent body. She reached up to gently stroke over my cheek. The taste of her lips, the warmth of her skin, the way she tilted her head to gain access to my mouth… it was all so eerily familiar.

 

Maybe this was just her thing. Walking into failing pipe organ stores to make out with awkward teenage boys while their boss was out running an errand. Maybe this was just one of many stops in a teen boy kissing spree stretching from Shoreditch to Oxford. I didn’t care. In fact, I was all too happy to aid her in such a wildly impractical fetish if it meant she’d keep kissing me.

 

Her arms banded around my neck as I lifted her up, setting her down on the key hutch of a nearby pipe organ. Our tongues wrestled gently. I’d never frenched a girl before. It was beyond nice.

 

Her legs hooked around my waist. The itchy tweed fabric of her pleated skirt was infuriating me. I wanted to tear it off of her, to expose the silky yellow skin underneath in all its radiant glory.

 

We broke for air after what felt like an eternity, resting our foreheads together, panting like dogs trapped in a hot car.

 

“God dammit,” I mustered between labored breaths. “Will you _please_ marry me?”

 

The girl laughed as though she understood. Beaming up at me, she nodded.

 

I remember grinning from ear to ear. Just as I leaned in to give my newly-minted fiance another kiss, the front door went off again. Or did it? The chiming sounded different this far back in the sore. Rhythmic. Annoying. Never turning off.

 

_Oh fuck._

 

The girl gripped my face, bringing my eyes back to her. “Shh. Stay with me,” she purred in perfect English as the overhead lights blew out one by one. She pulled me down against her, hugging my neck as the last un-exploded light wobbled overhead, readying to pop.

 

“I love you,” she whispered into the cone of my ear, right as the last bulb gave with a violent spray of sparks.

  

* * *

 

I awoke with a start. Sitting up, eyes wide and feral, I scanned a foreign room covered in rainbow taffeta and Harajuku plushies.

 

Oh. Noodle’s room. Right.

 

I glanced over. Noodle was still there, sprawled across the far end of the bed. The sheets a foot away from her where I’d been sleeping were drenched in the remnants of a cold sweat.

 

I sighed, palming the dampness from my face. Leaning over Noodle, I swatted the Hello Kitty alarm on the bedside table, silencing its rhythmic chirping before collapsing back on the damp spot I’d made.

 

I stared up at the ceiling for a time before twisting over on my side, wincing as the damp coldness of the sheets met my arm. There she was. The girl from my dream. Her hair might have been different, sure. But it was _her_.

 

I reached out a shaking hand. My long fingers, still trembling from adrenaline, gently parted her bangs, easing the razored purple hair behind her ear.

 

_God dammit,_ I thought to myself. _Why can’t we_ _just_ _be the same age?_

 

Noodle’s face scrunched up. She stirred, cracking one sleepy eye through the part in her bangs, studying me.

 

“Wut wrong?”

 

I shook my head, sighing. “Nofing. Just… yer alarm went off.”

 

Noodle nodded. I realized with sudden trepidation that I was still cradling the side of her face, my thumb absentmindedly stroking along her cheek.

 

As we stared into eachother’s eyes, something wordless and indecipherable passed between us. I’m ashamed to say that I wanted to kiss her again. Just to see if it’d be the same as in my dream.

 

“Noodz… wuz yer name?” I asked suddenly. “Yer real name.”

 

Noodle’s eyes widened. She seemed to think for a moment, as if having to recall it from her distant past.

 

“Noriko,” she whispered at last. “An’ you?”

 

“Stuart,” I smiled. “Stuart Pot.”

 

We giggled together in the glow of the morning sun lazily slanting through the window blinds. Scooting over towards my side of the bed, Noodle brushed her forehead to mine.

 

“I had a dream about you,” I admitted sheepishly.

 

Noodle studied my face for a while. Then, just as they had in my dream, her lips curled in a mischievous smile. “Welcome to my world.”


	7. Chapter 7

 

Our manager’s office is like something out of those shitty Star Wars prequels.  

 

Claiming the entire upper steeple of a skyscraper, its steel crossbeams and glass windows slope to a dagger-like point high overhead, offering breathtaking vistas of the city far below.  There were red marble floors buffed to a blinding sheen, deco decor, mullioned windows brocaded with mullions, whatever those are.  Orchids in vases on tables beneath crystal chandeliers, all done up real tasteful-like.

 

I was sitting outside Charles’ door like a primary schooler awaiting the headmaster.  Noodle was inside.  Had been for the better part of twenty minutes.  Even pressing my ear to the heavy oak door, I couldn’t hear anything.

 

I drummed my kneecaps.  I twiddled my fingers.  I got up for the fifth time to use the men’s bathroom (which had an awesome bidet) and ran hot water over the palms of my hands until they were red and numb.  Padding back out, I found Noodle in the plush chair, massaging her temples.

 

“Yo’ turn,” she sighed.

 

Swallowing loud enough to stir an echo, I turned the crystal doorknob, shouldering my way into the office.  Behind an ornate wooden desk sat a very frustrated looking man of about fifty, the top of his naked scalp gleaming with sweat.  He too was massaging his temples.  

 

“Stuart,” he growled.  “What. The. Fuck.”

 

My long legs crossed the imported black ebony flooring in an instant.  I fell down into one of those artsy chairs that look like warped potato chips.  “Are you going to kill me?”

 

Charles crushed the palms of his hands against his eyes, sighing.  “Tempting.  But that’d just make more of a mess for me to clean up, now, wouldn’t it?”

 

I nodded solemnly, unsure of what to do with my hands.

 

“So.  Brass tacks.  Noodle and I have been talking.  I wanna get your side of the story, and then we’ll come up with a plan on how to move forward.  First thing’s first though.  Do you foresee needing separate accommodations for housing?”

 

My spooky Indian burial caves opened wide.  “N-no.  Why?”

 

Charles shrugged.  “Thought it might be awkward being down the hall from your baby momma.  Are you and Noodle still on pretty good terms?”

 

“Yes,” I croaked. _Jesus Christ!_

 

“Okay.  Well, if that changes, let me know and we can put you up in a penthouse suite somewhere until this gets resolved.”

 

I swallowed, feeling nauseous.  

 

“Alright… so… Noodle told me what happened.  Now give me your side of it.  Don’t hold back.  Unfortunately this has to get awkward before it can get better.”

 

* * *

  

Ten minutes of exposition later, I was pushed back out into the waiting area and Noodle was called back in.  Fifteen minutes (and two bidet trips) later, she was back out again.

 

“Let’s go.”

 

No one spoke as we took the carpeted elevator down to the mezzanine.  From there, we were quickly escorted by our security guy through a backdoor, weaving through a bustling kitchen, into a service elevator, emerging on a dirty loading dock where our unmarked sedan was idling.  The driver quickly hopped out, opening the door to allow us inside.

 

Once the tinted glass had been rolled up between him and us, I turned to Noodle and whispered, “So… wuz gon’ on?”

 

But Noodle only shook her head, eyeing the two-way microphone mounted in the wall.  It was supposed to be off, but you never really know.  “I’ll tell you when we get home.”

 

* * *

 

The plan, come to find out, was rather simple.

 

All it really involved was a car ride into town.  And a doctor.

 

Noodle, to her everlasting credit, was trying to be tough about it, explaining everything to me in calm, measured tones.   

 

The whole thing was handled already.  The appointment was greenlit.  The route there and back was planned.  

 

The one doctor who would handle every facet of the procedure... from scheduling and receiving us to dispensing the postoperative pain meds and waving us off... was securely bound to secrecy by both HIPAA and a nondisclosure agreement which, should he opt to break, would have Charles leveraging the full might and fury of thirty years worth of connections down upon him, assuring that he’d never be able to put so much as a Band-Aid on anyone ever again.  

 

Snipers were on rooftops, on the ready to pick off anything with a camera.  Et cetera.

 

Yep.  Everything seemed wrapped up in a neat little bow.

 

Now I just needed to get through a night of bitter self-loathing and we’d be all set.

 

* * *

 

I revived from my pill and booze-induced coma at 3:20 in the morning, exactly ten minutes before my alarm was set to go off.  It was dark.  I was in my bedroom.  Alone.

 

I sluggishly went through the motions of getting dressed, opting not to shave because that would have involved looking in the mirror.

 

Door, hallway, Noodle’s room, knocking.  No one home.

 

Hallway, stairs, minding the bum third step, backdoor.  Unmarked sedan with blacked-out windows.  The rush of warm cabin air.  There was Noodle, wedged against the far side of the back seat.  I take the other side.  No one says anything.

 

Driving, downtown, city limits, suburbs, backstreets.  Rear parking of a nondescript, sterile-looking white building.  No other cars.  One light on inside.

 

Back entrance.  Fluorescent rods buzzing overhead like angry bees.  The stink of Hibiclens and old magazines, laminate chairs and last resorts.

 

* * *

 

“Noodle?  Hi, I’m Doctor Dickface.  C’mon back.”

 

His name probably wasn’t Doctor Dickface.  I just put that in because I hated him on sight.

 

Noodle nodded, avoiding my gaze as she followed the man with too many teeth in his smile through an ominous-looking white door.  I was a bit caught off guard by the abruptness of it.  Guess I expected there to be paperwork.  Forms to be filled out ‘n that.  But Charles probably took care of it all.

 

After they’d gone, I fished a couple of Zofrans out of my pocket and scarfed them down, hoping they’d work wonders in bringing my stomach out of my throat and back down to my gullet where it belonged.  I felt… just… _indescribably_ run-down.  Like I’d been gone over with a wheat combine driven by my grandmother as she shouted at me to go get a real job.

 

I tried to skim a _Better Homes & Gardens _ from two years ago.  Martha Stewart was hacking open a durian fruit with a durian fruit-hacking device which, conveniently, she happened to be selling.  Then I switched to a fashion magazine with Heidi Klum’s emaciated scarecrow ass on the cover.  I huffed one of the _Daisy_ by Marc Jacobs perfume inserts, nearly vommed, and gave up not long after that.

 

My god… what a miserable experience!  White walls, organ-colored furniture and elevator music.  No wonder places like this were in the news so much.  If I had it my way, the whole place would look like an indie coffee shop, complete with wood paneling on the walls, beanbags and recessed alcove lighting.  And Beck.  Beck’s entire discography, from _Banjo Story_ all the way up to _Colors_ , playing nonstop in the background.  Also, free Wi-Fi.

 

Oh, I was going to take _such_ a nap once we got back to Kong.  Maybe for days or weeks on end.  This was just the sort of thing drugs were invented for.  No one needs to be conscious for this shit.  

 

Right as I was weighing the option of having a quick masculine cry, the ominous white door from before threw itself open, banging loudly against the wall.  

 

I’d only half risen from my kidney-colored chair when Noodle collided with me, a sobbing, shivering mess my arms wrapped instinctively around.

 

God, she was bawling!  I thought to myself, was it done?  Was that how long it took?  I’d never sat in on one before, so I didn’t know.  But something in the way Dr. Dickface pooled in the doorframe, an indistinct white blur with arms crossed, led me to believe that, no, it hadn’t happened.

 

_“Toochi,”_ I managed to make out through the sobs.   _“I’m sorry… I’m SO sorry… I can’t…”_

 

Immediately I was flooded with a profound sense of relief.  I rocked her softly, shushed her, kissed the top of her head, all the while wishing Dr. Dickface would slink back into his creepy room and leave us be.

 

“It’s okay,” I whispered into her hair.  “It’s okay.  You don’t have to.”

 

Dickface MD finally took the hint and fucked off, and I took full advantage of his absence by tilting Noodle’s face up.  Her arms banded tightly around my neck as we kissed.  Right there beneath the ugly fluorescent lights of an abortion clinic lobby.  At five in the morning.

 

* * *

 

After a long while, Noodle finally calmed down.  I sat on the kidney-colored bench with her on my lap, holding her like a china doll.  Charles had been called.  The doctor was paid off.  The car was getting ready to pull up.

 

Noodle sighed gently against my chest.  “Wut we gonna do?”

 

“Dunno,” I kissed the top of her head again as the car’s headlights appeared in the parking lot.  “We’ll sort it all out though.  You ‘n me.  I promise.”


	8. Chapter 8

 

Plan B was unfortunately just as pants-shittingly terrifying as Plan A.

 

All it involved was an elaborate network of lies, paying off government officials, a plane ticket to Japan and a robot.  

 

Oh how I wish I were kidding.

 

* * *

 

I put my mouth on the glass dick of my bong, holding my lighter up to the bowl.  The chamber began to slowly fill with smoke.  Once it was all the way filled I pulled the bowl, slurping up all that delicious, brain-suffocating stank, coughing violently.  My eyes rolled back in my head as I set Ol’ Faithful down on the bedside table, collapsing back onto the bare mattress.

 

* * *

 

In greater detail, the plan was that we’d finish this lap of our tour schedule, then continue interviewing and appearing together until Noodle started to show.  Gorillaz would go on a “recording break” to “work on new music”.  Then, Noodle would fly out to Japan in secret under an assumed name.  She’d have her baby and put it up for adoption.  Once she was back to normal, we’d fly her home.  In her absence, Cyborg Noodle would have taken her place on the interview circuit.  No one would be any the wiser.

 

* * *

 

I fumbled around beneath my pillow for the last few tablets of Tylenol 3 I’d stashed away.  I found them and popped them into my mouth, swallowing them dry.

 

* * *

 

If any single component of this elaborate plan were to fall through, we’d all be dead.  The world would find out.  Charles and a lot of other high-ups at the record label would lose their jobs.  The band would break up.  I’d go to jail for statutory rape.  And Noodle would lose any sort of privacy for many, many years.  

 

So to keep from thinking about all that, I now spend most of my days high as a weather balloon.

 

* * *

 

The room around me shrank and grew.  The furniture warped and changed color as my mouth filled with cotton.

 

* * *

 

We hadn’t spoken much these past few days.  Noodle ‘n me.  Hadn’t fought or anything.  I suppose we both had a lot on our minds.  Her more so than me.  

 

* * *

 

My rotten apple cores blinked out of tandem.  Everything was suddenly _fine_.  Just _fine_.  I didn’t feel any urge to think about how I’d possibly ruined a young girl’s life.  I wasn’t worried about getting ass-raped in prison.  I was just comfortably numb.

 

And then, of course, there came a knock at my door.

 

_“Pufffffffffffffffffffignnnnn!!”_ I squawked incoherently.

 

I hoped it wasn’t important.  Because there was just no way.

 

Metal on metal.   _Clink!_ The door creaked silently open.  Bare feet padding over the floorboards. A meager weight shifted over the bedsprings.  I figured it was either Slenderman or the Tooth Fairy coming to beat me up.  So when Noodle rested her head against my chest, I was genuinely surprised.  

 

“You still alive?” she whispered.

 

I gurgled in the affirmative.

 

“Good.”  Noodle nodded, nuzzling the top of her head against the underside of my jaw, planting a delicate kiss to my throat.  “I’m scared.”

 

“Me too,” I just barely managed.

 

“How old is that bong?”

 

“Jus’ used it.”

 

“You mind?”

 

“Naw.”

 

Sitting up, Noodle fumbled around with the various cannabis accoutrements on my bedside table.  Mustering every shred of voluntary muscle control I had left, I managed to turn my head to watch her.  She was in a black silk kimono that stopped just above her knees.  Her fingernails were painted the color of Mother Theresa’s lightsaber.  She loaded my spare bowl with the Girl Scout Cookies I’d left in the grinder, tamping them down gently.  I closed my eyes and listened to her light up and rip it.  The sound of churning bubbles tickled my eardrums.

 

As she laid her head against my chest, I felt a strong urge to cry.  Which, let’s be honest, is pretty understandable.  This was a lot of shit to deal with.  

 

“Stu?”

 

“Hm?”

 

“When it comes time for me to go to Japan, I want you to come with me.”

 

“That’s not part of the plan, Noodz.”

 

_“Baka._  Fuck the plan.  I don’t wanna go by myself.”

 

“Why?  S’where yer from.”

 

Noodle sat up slightly, giving me a look. “Do you like where you’re from?”

 

Good point.  “Ah jus’ can’t, doll.  S’not right.” I flailed my wrists in the air for emphasis.  “Ain’t none of this right.”  

 

As I layed there supine and nearly paralyzed, I felt a scalding hot tear starting its way down the side of my face.  It slanted at a weird angle, worming across my jaw and onto the mattress beneath me.  

 

“Sorry love,” I blubbed, making an uncoordinated go at wiping my face.  “Ain’t meanin’ to scare ya.  In all truth I’m pretty scared m’self.”

 

She just looked at me through a part in her bangs.  Slowly her hand eased out from the wide sleeve of her kimono.  Her calloused fingers brushed gently along the side of my face, wiping the tear trail away.  She rested her forehead against my temple, her breath pluming warm and comforting against my cheek.  “I love you.”

 

I nodded, staring at the ceiling.  My eyes burned.  The corners of my mouth felt sticky and my throat felt tight.  “I know,” I barely managed.  “I know you do.  An’ I’m sorry.  I’m sorry I got us into this mess…”

 

“Toochi.”

 

“...I’m sorry I didn’t say no that first time.  I’m sorry we ain’t the same age.  I’m sorry you have to go back to Japan.  I’m sorry for all of this.”

 

Her fingers rose again, combing through my hair as she gently kissed my cheek.  She shushed me like a mother trying to soothe a crying child.  Which is exactly what I felt like right then.  Having tried in vain to force down tears, I finally just let them go.  To the point where I had to cover my eyes with the palm of my hand to keep her from seeing what an ugly crier I was.  In the dark I felt her limbs coil around me, holding me close.  

 

After a while I finally managed to get myself together, turning away to palm the wetness from my face.  “Sorry.”

 

Noodle sat up, feeling around in the dark for my hand.  I thought she was just trying to hold it, but then she made to tug me up.  “C’mon.”

 

“I don’t think I can Noodz.”

 

“Yes you can.  C’mon.”

 

I found myself being hoisted to my feet by way of surprising asian girl strength.  I lost my balance almost instantly, my knees buckling against her.  Fortunately Noodle was at the ready, grabbing my arm and slinging it over her shoulder.

 

“Noodz…”

 

“You’re not heavy.  C’mon.”

 

Somehow we made it out of my room and down the hall.  Noodle rested me against the doorframe as she made quick work of the key code.  The mechanical lock gave with a faint whir of gears.  The door opened and I was re-slung.  

 

Ingress, back against the wall, door closing, lock being thrown.  Hoisted up again, carted over to the futon.  Although she took care to set me down gently, my spine immediately ragdolled and I flopped back onto the duvet cover like a deflated car dealership skydancer.

 

She somehow managed to pull me up the bed proper, making practiced work of drawing the duvet up over me.  When at last I was securely nestled within, Noodle undid the belt on her kimono.  The silky black fabric fell around her, exposing her pale skin to the night air.

 

“Noodz…”

 

“We’re not gonna do anything.  This is just how I sleep.”

 

That was really all the protest I could muster.  She coiled against me again, and soon the space beneath the duvet was made pleasantly warm by our shared body heat.

 

“Toochi?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“From now on, we’re in this together.  If you get scared, come talk to me.  And no more pills.  Or at least not as many.  I need you.”

 

“Okay.”  I could feel my eyes starting to well up again.  

 

“Toochi?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“If you pee in my bed, I’ll kill you.”

 

“Okay.”  I forced a dry swallow.  “Noodle?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“I love you too.”

 

Noodle nodded, planting a tired kiss against my throat as she nestled down against me.  “I know.  G’night Stu.”

 

“G’night Noriko.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See, told you the story wasn't dead. I've just been caught up with grown-up stuff.
> 
> Also, I know that it seems like this story's sprouting a bit of an emo fringe. It'll get a little more cheery over the next few chapters, I promise.
> 
> Also also... single-most popular Gorillaz fanfiction on both FF and AO3?! Jesus tittyfucking Christ! Thanks guys. 
> 
> Please read/review!


	9. Chapter 9

Things got a lot better for us in the weeks to come.

 

I cut my pill habit in half and took up roller skating in booty shorts to relieve stress. Noodle started playing a lot of _Subnautica_ VR in the living room and had even managed to punch a Reaper Leviathan to death using just her fists and a sock full of oranges she found in a storage compartment on the Aurora.

 

The upper-ups released the first press release about our touring break. Gorillaz was in the studio a bunch, teleconferencing our recording sessions with Murdoc who was in prison for breaking into a Pinkberry after hours to pee in the fro-yo machines. Russ, who is black and therefore the only one in the band who knows anything about computers, was tasked with getting the teleconferencing technology to work and was just as eager as we were for the break.

 

We were slapping some real jazzy sounds around Daddy-O. Pulling shapes. Getting lines drawn on the ol’ dry erase board. Real sloppy Dutch possum shit.

 

For a while at least, it almost felt like things had returned to a plateau of normalcy for us.

 

Except that I haven’t slept in my own bed in over a week.

 

* * *

 

The door to her room was gapped open slightly.

 

I glanced both ways down the hall. Holding my breath, I listened intently for any interloping interlopers. Nothing. I slinked towards the gap on silent little cat feet, toeing my way around the squeaky floorboards.

 

A whoosh of pleasant-smelling air. The whirring mechanical click of the bedroom door locking behind me. Skinny fingers with coffin-shaped nails reaching out from the dim flickering candlelight, gathering me by the wrists, drawing me in.

 

“Mmmf… you smell good.”

 

I don’t think anyone has ever said that to me. It was nice. I had taken to showering semi-regularly, rather than just doing the one shower every three years that most British people commit to. I’d even painstakingly shaved my pits and legs, because nothing’s grosser than seeing a chav with mangy pits skating down the boardwalk at you going mach five in green booty shorts.

 

My hands found the lazy curve of her waist and drew her in. Leaning down, I brushed our foreheads together.

 

* * *

 

A cocoon of white blankets. My arm swaddling her shoulder. Her tiny breasts against my chest.

 

I knew we shouldn’t. But God, isn’t that getting tiresome to hear?

 

I had long since given up on pretending that I didn’t love her. Or that, because of her age, she was incapable of truly loving me back. We’d lived together for going on five years and had shared in every happiness and heartbreak. She was more family to me -and I to her- than our own flesh and blood relatives.

 

The self-hatred was still there. But now it faded in and out as though on a dimmer switch. When we were together, I forgot about the world and all its attending grievances beyond her bedroom door.

 

This night in particular, we were passing Noodle’s vape rig full of Holy Grail between us, discussing the hidden themes in Quentin Tarantino’s _The Hateful Eight_ . It was my favorite Tarantino flick. Noodle’s was _Kill Bill vol. 2_ because she liked Pai Mei.

 

“Would you grow a long fu manchu if I wanted you to,” she asked against my neck.

 

“Naw, luv. Not good at growin’ out m’facial hair. S’too patchy.”

 

“Aww. I wanted to braid it.”

 

Noodle has a thing with braiding hair. If presented with half an opportunity, she’ll put French braids in damn-near anything even vaguely hairlike. Once upon a time, we were over at the mansion of a marketing exec in charge of putting together promotionals for a tour we were doing. Noodle excused herself from the mile-long dinner table to go use the restroom. Come to find out, she’d actually been setting those delicate little fingers upon the exec’s priceless Afghan Hound. When the poor thing came wandering into the smoker’s parlor later that night, lo and behold, it’s entire mane of flawless Calista Flockhart hair was done up in approximately 20,000 little braids.

 

The remainder of the evening was fairly loud and resulted in us not using that particular executive for our marketing push.

 

Anyhoo, where were we? Oh yeah. So we’re resting in a nest of bedsheets amongst all her brightly-colored Japanese plushies. Her hand was coiled protectively around my limp dick. My eyes were dry.

 

Catching the dopey grin on my face, Noodle rolled over on top of me. Her still-wet lips brushed playfully against my spent member. Reaching down beneath the duvet cover, I gathered up a heaping handful of her little butt, cooing as she gently rocked her hips against mine.

 

“Wuv ooh.”

 

“Love you too.”

 

We just say it now. Yeah, yeah - it’s wrong. But… meh. We’re locked in. And besides, it’s true.

 

“Guess where we’re going tomorrow?”

 

I cracked an eyelid. “We’re goin’ somewhere?”

 

“Mm-hmm.”

 

I groaned. When you’re famous, the outside world is such a chore.

 

“No, c’mon. It’ll be neat, I promise.”

 

“...’kay.”

 

Planting an obnoxiously loud kiss into her hair, I freed my hand from around her narrow shoulders and wiggled my fingers, dispersing the numbness that had accrued since the start of our cuddle session. “Does it involve swords at all?”

 

Noodle collects swords. Has about an airplane hanger’s worth of wall space devoted to her various katanas and claymores and kukris and what-not. Even has a couple o’ Hattori Hanzos tucked away behind bulletproof hermetically sealed display cases. She let me hold one once. It was tits.

 

“Hmm,” she pondered. “Kind of.”

 

“Can we score weed there?”

 

“Naw.”

 

“Hmmm,” I yawned, slowly blinking my rotten apple cores. “I give.”

 

“It’ll be a surprise then.”

 

“‘Kay.”

 

Rearing up like a cobra from the covers, Noodz clapped her hands twice and the dimmed lights went out proper.

 

You get a cash rebate if you refer The Clapper to a friend. Made ten quid on that unit, I did.

 


End file.
